


Come One, Come All

by incogneat_oh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Ensemble - Freeform, Everyone Loves Dick Grayson, Family Bonding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 15:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10221614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: He sits on the end of the bed, watching the slow expansion of Dick’s chest, frowning slightly. Tapping his fingers on the knees of his jeans absently.Or, the fic where Dick is injured and the family are sticking close by.





	

–  
  
Tim’s in the kitchen at Wayne Manor when his cell goes off, playing a tinny rendition of Crazy Train.   
  
Wondering what Jason wants, he accepts the call, says, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
  
“Checking up,” Jay says, after a pause. There’s the low sound of a radio in the background, a scuffle of fabric. He’s home, then, sounds worried. Trying to hide it. “How is he?”  
  
And Tim smiles, a little, tipping back to relax against the counter. He says, “For all his whinging, you know he’s pretty tough. He’s conscious enough to be annoying, which we’re all taking as a good sign.”  
  
And Jason laughs, the warm, too-rare sound, says, “Same old Dickie, huh?”  
  
“He’s still pretty out of it,” Tim says. “He’s, um, not really himself if he’s not flipping around the place and irritating everyone, you know?”  
  
There’s the sound of Jason shifting, probably against the couch. There’s another pause before he says, “He hasn’t changed much.” And then, unsure, “Back– before– he got hurt, bad. And Alfred dragged him back home to stick ‘im on bed-rest. He annoyed everyone so much, goddamn. Alfred dug out a bunch of board games to entertain him, but we’d always wind up fighting instead because he was a dirty cheat.”   
  
And Tim doesn’t know what to say, waits a little breathlessly. Sure that, as soon as Jason remembers who he’s talking to, he’ll hang up. But when he says nothing, Tim says, “You ever seen him cheat at Yahtzee?”  
  
“He’s such a shit,” Jason says, and Tim can picture the good-natured grin.  
  
He tries, “I’m sure he’d appreciate a visit. If you’ve got the time.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Jay says, shifting again. He sounds… something. Not quite annoyed, not quite impatient. “Maybe in a couple days or something. See you 'round, baby bird.”  
  
“Bye, Jason,” Tim says, and Damian’s head snaps up. Tim slides the phone into his pocket, ignoring the ten year old’s sharp gaze.  
  
“Todd?” he demands. “Jason  _Todd_?”  
  
“He was checking up on Dick,” Tim says absently, starting to clear up. And, “Can you please get the mayo, while you’re at the fridge?”  
  
Damian wordlessly complies, a frown on his face. “Even Todd was worried?”  
  
“Relax, Damian. He’s out of the woods,” Tim says, continuing to construct their lunches. An afterthought, “D'you like mayonnaise?”  
  
“On what?”  
  
“A sandwich,” Tim laughs, good-naturedly.   
  
“I meant with what other ingredients,” the boy snaps, going pink.   
  
“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Tim tells him, squeezing out a good amount. “Anyway, Jay was there with him. Of course he wanted to check in.”  
  
They put the sandwich ingredients away in silence. Tim gets a tray for the food, adding two glasses of lemonade as an afterthought. He snags a smoothie for Dick, just in case, and they start to head upstairs.   
  
Outside Dick’s door, Tim murmurs, “Want to check if he’s still awake?”  
  
Damian silently opens the door, creeping inside. Tim pokes his head in, still balancing the tray, when he hears Dick slur, “Lil’ brothers?”  
  
“Hi, Dick,” Tim smiles, entering and setting the tray down. “Figured you might want some company.”  
  
“Uh-hmm,” the elder says, eyelids half-closed. He’s on his side, says it hurts less that way. He’s hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV, and a nasal cannula is regulating his oxygen intake. He’s pale, brow faintly wrinkled, but he’s  _still_  smiling stupidly, just on seeing them. He sluggishly lifts an arm, says, “Dami?”  
  
The boy looks on with an unreadable expression. His eyes are dark, shuttered, his lips pressed tight. Tim can see his hands trembling slightly under the cuffs of his jacket. “Grayson,” he says, steadily.  
  
“Go on,” Tim says, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “Give him a hug. He won’t shut up 'til you do.”  
  
And Damian turns a glare on him, and then Dick. He says, “This once, Grayson.” He moves himself onto the bed, careful not to shift the mattress. He lays down, easing himself under Dick’s arm slowly. He adds, irritated, “I do not wish to incur a Pavlovian response. As such, this is the only time a near-death experience will be rewarded with 'hugs’.”   
  
“ ’m not a dog, Dami,” Dick huffs, with an almost-laugh. And he clumsily presses his bloodless lips to Damian’s temple, says, “Thanks though. Helps.”  
  
They let Dick pick the movie ( _Atlantis_ , Damian’s still working his way through Disney) and Tim settles on Dick’s other side, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. He rubs gently for a moment, says, “Tell us if we hurt you, 'kay?”  
  
Dick mumbles his assent with some slurred endearment, and Damian grumbles under Dick’s arm.   
  
The man’s breathing is raspy and unsteady, but he seems genuinely happy for his brothers’ presence, huffing out tired laughter at his favourite scenes, pressing his face into Damian’s hair and smiling stupidly.  
  
The sandwiches are forgotten.  
  
–  
  
Dick’s asleep when Jason sneaks in to see him.   
  
He’s tired of nightmares, flashes of his brother’s too-still form sprawled over the concrete. Not that he cares, but. He’d barely lasted two days.   
  
He must be getting soft.   
  
And he sits on the end of the bed, watching the slow expansion of Dick’s chest, frowning slightly. Tapping his fingers on the knees of his jeans absently.   
  
Goldie’s pale, he notes. His face is relaxed, but twitches into discomfort when he shifts and the cannula pulls at his hand.   
  
Jason’s frown deepens, and he carefully shifts the idiot’s arm, letting the line go slack. He makes a show of rolling his eyes (even though there’s no one to see it).  
  
And after a moment, Dickie stirs.   
  
“Jay?” he says hoarsely. “Li'l wing?” And then, “You here?”  
  
He thinks better of saying 'th’ fuck kind of question is that?’, instead putting it down to the drugs. And he says, “Yeah, Dickie.”  
  
The elder’s eyes slide closed, smile widening. “Hi.”  
  
“Hey,” Jay agrees. And he says, conversationally, eyes tracing the lines on the man’s face, “…The replacement says you’re a pain in the ass. That you keep bitching and whining.”  
  
“Timmy di'n’t say that,” Dickie says immediately. Lips twitching. “Nice try.”  
  
“Your faith in him is astounding,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. And he pats Dick’s hand to get his attention, licks his lips. Says, “You’re doing okay?”  
  
“Fab,” is Dick’s response, turning his hand over. Palm-up, loosely grasping Jay’s wrist. And he shows his teeth in something like a grin, says, “C'I’ve a cuddle?”  
  
Jason surprises himself with a laugh, tugs his hand away. (He does scootch a little closer, but that’s 'cuz the asshole is talking quietly.) “Hell no!” He says, matter-of-fact, “I’m not rewarding your bad behaviour.”   
  
“ ’s what Dam'n said,” Dick says mournfully, shifting his weight a little. “Says… ’s Pavlovian.”  
  
“Smart kid,” Jason smiles. He shifts a little closer again, hesitates. He stretches out a hand and settles it on Dick’s shoulder, warm beneath the thin fabric t-shirt, says, “You’re kind of a stupid shit, huh?”  
  
“So I hear,” the elder agrees, good-natured. He cracks open one of his baby-blues, eyes Jason. He says, after a moment, “ 'nks for being there, Jay. Th’ other night. And now.”  
  
And Jason– doesn’t know what to say to that, how to handle it. So he says, “Awfully trusting, aren’t you Goldie? I could fuck you up so badly right now. Don’t you know I’m violent and psychotic?”  
  
But Dick just smiles, doesn’t even bother to open his eyes. Says, “Yeah yeah, li'l wing.”  
  
“Stupid shit,” Jason says again, decisively. And he looks away from the bed, away from the collection of medical paraphernalia. Away from Dick’s limp form, the dark circles under his eyes. Towards the door. There’s a frown pulling at his features.   
  
Glancing back, he sees Dick’s eyes are open. Watching him, eyebrows contracted. “Y'look worried, Jason,” he slurs, mouth curled down. He’s so pale, looks almost ghoulish in the light from the window. He pleads, “Don’t fight with dad?”  
  
And it takes Jay a full minute. But then a bark of laughter escapes him, and he swats Dick’s head gently. Says, “I’m worried about  _you,_  asshole.”  
  
“But I’m awesome.” Dismissive. Hazy blue eyes sliding closed again.  
  
“Mediocre at best.”   
  
And Dick lifts an arm with difficulty, says, “Sure I can’t have a cuddle?”  
  
“Fuckin’  _positive_ ,” Jason says, but does squeeze the man’s shoulder. Guides his arm back to the sheets. And he says, “Tell you what. I’ll send the baby bird in here in a bit, okay? You can always bully him into giving you a hug.” He shifts, a bit, uncomfortable. Hesitant. Says, “But, I’m gonna sit here for a while, yeah?”  
  
And Dick’s hand brushes against the leg of his jeans, face relaxing into another sleepy smile. “Long as you want, Jay.”  
  
Jay’s almost sure Dickie’s asleep when he murmurs, “Yeah, big bird. Okay.”  
  
–  
  
The room is dark when Bruce lets himself in, the only light coming from the open curtains.  
  
Dick’s skin looks sickly in the moonlight, his hair dark across the pillow. His mouth hangs slack, his brow slightly wrinkled. And his hand twitches, minutely, against the sheets. Convulsing. Pained.  
  
The cannula catches a glint of light and Bruce gives a near-silent sigh, moving closer to his son. His heartbeat is steady across the monitor, and Bruce checks the IV. Just to be safe.  
  
Then he settles into the chair at the bedside, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s been a long few days.   
  
He hears a faint grumble from Dick, a groan. And he watches as the man’s eyes flick open, dull and glazed. Focus on him.  
  
“ 'lo,” he croaks. Voice hoarse, scratchy.  
  
“Hey Dickie,” Bruce murmurs, touching his hand. Exhausted, fond in a way he can’t be after dawn, after well-rested nights. In a way he can’t express shy of near-death experiences. And he says, “I…  haven’t been around much, I know. There have been a lot of…  _unavoidable_  problems. For both Bruce Wayne and Batman.”   
  
“Thought,” Dick says, slurs. Eyes closing. “Thought you w’re mad at me.”  
  
Bruce’s brow wrinkles in genuine puzzlement, says, “For getting hurt?” And he squeezes Dick’s cold hand, says, “You did everything right. You know that. Some nights, luck just isn’t on our side.”  
  
At that Dick’s face relaxes, a little. Not enough.   
  
Bruce leans forward, rubbing Dick’s knuckles with his thumb. He says, “How’re you feeling?”  
  
Dick is silent for so long Bruce wonders if he heard the question. If maybe he fell asleep.   
  
Finally, after what has to have been a few minutes, the man croaks “ _Tired_ ,” and it’s a near-sob. He’s exhausted, in a lot of pain.  
  
Bruce brushes Dick’s hair off his forehead, says, “Would you like me to leave you alone? Let you get some sleep?”  
  
And there’s another pause, Dick fumbling to grab hold of his wrist. “No.”  
  
The elder smiles, keeps petting Dick’s hair. Notes the way the man– boy, always his boy– leans into the touch. And he says easily enough, “Okay.”  
  
“Thanks, Dad.” It’s so quiet, for a moment, Bruce is sure he imagined it.   
  
But he smiles, a little wider, a little gentler. Hesitates. And he says, softly, “I love you, Dick.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
And Bruce  _almost falls for it_. But– “I know you heard me.”  
  
Unrepentant, a tired grin splits over Dick’s face. And he says, “ ’s nice to hear it.”  
  
Bruce tightens his hand in Dick’s hair, just shy of painful. A warning. But that just makes him laugh a quiet, wheezing laugh. “You’re a smartass,” Bruce tells him, but he’s pretty sure Dick already knows.  
  
Impossibly, Dick’s smile widens.   
  
And they stay that way awhile. Until Dick’s features have softened into sleep, breathing even, hand limp on Bruce’s arm.   
  
Bruce sets the man’s hand back on the mattress. Adjusts the covers carefully, presses a quick kiss to his son’s forehead.  
  
And then he takes off his tie, sitting back down. He rolls up his shirt sleeves and kicks off his shoes, briefly laments Alfred’s impending comments about the state of his suit. He rests his hand on top of Dick’s, settling comfortably in the chair.  
  
Tonight, Bruce thinks, closing his eyes. He’ll finally be able to get some sleep.  
  
(And when he hears Dick’s mumbled, “Sap”, he just smiles, doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.)  
  
 **-END-**

**Author's Note:**

> Also found on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/25572061027/come-one-come-all)


End file.
